


of fools and fate

by redrioting



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Relationships, Deities, Demigods, Gen, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, HQ Brofest Rookie Tier, Minor Character Death, Mythology - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), War, i can't write fight sequences be warned, lots of mentions of death, past kiyoalisa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redrioting/pseuds/redrioting
Summary: “Fools,” she whispers, leaning against a column of her temple. She watches the mortal world go by behind closed eyes, shivers running through her with each passing death of a warrior. “The gods should not have interfered in this war.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my entry for the Haikyuu!! Brofest challenge !! focusing on quite a few character and friendships scattered around is current and later chapters >.<

The tales of death are told throughout the land.

In whispers, hushed words shared among worried lovers, fearful for their partners and the time they have together. Murmurs among young siblings who are told of their parents’ fate to disease or war, softly spoken prayers tumbling from their mouths in a rush of hope and fear, praying to the gods and the deity of death to have mercy upon them.

In yells and screams do they curse her name, the name of death; the name of their struggle and sadness, a being to blame for their misfortune as they hold onto a loved one between their arms, rocking backwards and forwards with their throat raw from their anguish. On the battlefield, between the warriors are a hushed appreciation for the lord of the underworld, never must they spit on his name nor that of his wife.

Never must a person rebel against Hades and his queen.

However a warrior’s tale is different; in the void of pain and sadness that must never settle in, do the warriors watch death spirits hover above them, mouths twisted in snarls as they launch onto a fallen soldier, ripping into their barest soul and leaving them cold among the blood shed of war.

Taketora knew of the spirits of death, a constant fear taking hold of his heart at the thought of the day a Ker would take him, release him from this earth and into a storm of torment.

He knew he would die a warrior, he knew his death would come on the battlefield, between Ryunosuke and Koutarou with a blade in his hand as he hacks at the shields of his opponents.

Rage and honour pushing him forward, urging him on with the blissful thought of victory. Each push, each slash with his sword, each block and parry brought upon a sense of pride and faith. His will burning brighter and outshining those around him, the promise to protect his family, comrades and sanction left in the air of the dead.

He dodges a slash from an enemy soldier and their swords instantly clash against one another. Taketora their momentum against them and forces them to stumble backwards, swords slipping off from until they backed away from the other, eyes darting over the other person, waiting for them to attack.

For them to kill.

He didn't wait long, choosing to strike when he finds the perfect moment and deflecting his opponents attempt at severing his wrist.

His sword impales them instantly, hilt stopping by their chest. Ragged breathing and the clang of swords around them rings in the air.

“At ease soldier, your fight here has come to an end,” Taketora pulls out his sword, instantly catching his opponent and lowering them to the ground.

He covers their eyes, closing their eyelids and removes their helmet, placing it in the crook of their elbow.

A shout of pain to the left stops him for a moment, the clang of swords and the slamming of bodies against shields leaves him dazed as he scans his surroundings for the golden helmet Koutarou wore to represent his sanction, and then to the armour of scales and ropes, both as dark as ink, that Ryunosuke runs into battle with; axe in hand and daggers scattered in sheaths strapped to his hips and chest.

He gasps and curls into himself when the edge of a shield smashes against the side of his skull, his own vermillion helmet denting and hiding Taketora’s injury from sight. He stumbles and falls onto the ground, head aching and body screaming as the warrior who attacked him raises her sword to deliver a killing blow.

Taketora twists around, despite how muddle his head felt, and kicked her waist, before hooking one leg behind her knees and making her fall with a shout. He stumbles up and swipes at her with a displaced spear close to him, her sword cutting through the shaft of the spear and taking hold of the half which flew in her direction.

The two grunt as they squabble around, Taketora with a useless spear and his opponent with a sword and the rest of _his_ weapon. She kicks his chest and distances herself from him with a sly smile.

“Tricky little one, aren’t you,” he states. Falling back into a defense position, his dagger in front of him, blade pointing towards her.

Seeing the pale violet tint of her armour, his mouth twists. “A member of Inarizaki, should've known.”

She darts forward, lithe as a fox and faster than an eel, tip of the spear catching on the underside of Taketora’s jaw. She nearly carves a path down his neck until he slams the palm of his hand under her chin, throwing her head upwards and sending a blow to her stomach.

She bounces instead of tumbles, shifting left and right, dodging and blocking all Taketora’s attempts to injure her. The two of them dodge a soldier, kicking him to the side as they focused on one another, Taketora stiff while his opponent seems willowy.

He could see the tension in her eyes, though.

The two circle one another, battle raging on around them. “I’ve heard of you, the one who bathes in blood, the pride and joy of the Nekomas.”

He scoffs. “A warrior that talks is a dead one.”

“Is that what you told Tadashi?” She taunts, smirk sharp as a knife and twice as deadly.

Taketora could feel every inch of his body seizing up at the memory of the young boy with stars covering his cheeks and fire in his eyes. The boy who fought with his mind and soul, the boy who lost both.

His finger twitches around the handle of the dagger, and tilts his head. “Who?”

Her expression tightens and lip twists. “You forgot the ones you slaughtered before you became a soldier?”

He lowers his stance, sees her leg shift into action and rolls out of her charge. His hand grabbing onto her calf until she jumps and kicks it away.  
  
“I’ve never been anything but a soldier.”

The lie hangs between them, only filled with the sounds of their frustration with each block of attack the other makes. The snarl at one another, words being bitten off between clenched jaws

“You might have always been a soldier,” she snarls, nearly spearing Taketora’s shoulder, “but you’re also the mer killer.”

Taketora narrows his eyes and angles himself to miss her jab, lowering himself and twisting around to hook a leg under her knees and bring her down. She yelps and stumbles, one hand slamming into Taketora’s face as he shoulders her until she loses balance and falls with a gasp.

He heard a crack and ignores it in favour of pressing his knee into her chest, one hand mindlessly finding a lost dagger and bringing it to her neck. “Where did you hear that?” snarling and baring his teeth, Taketora’s eyes were molten gold and diamond, ready to rip her to pieces with a single look.

“What,” she huffs, breathing made difficult with Taketora’s weight on her, “worried your commander will know the truth?”

He cocks his head to the side, lifting off of her only to twist and slam the dagger into someone’s stomach and curving it upwards. He watches as they fall by him, chest rising with pained breaths, before turning back to her.

“No,” says Taketora, voice a low growl as he presses her deeper into the ground, dagger against her jugular. “But I like to keep track of who to kill.”

She barks a laugh and pushes herself closer to the dagger with a ragged smile, eyes a lifeless amber that held nothing but endless emptiness. “My lips are sealed, my tongue caught in a promise and my voice belonging to the gods, take me as is and free me.”

She barks a laugh and pushes herself closer to the dagger with a ragged smile, eyes a lifeless amber that held nothing but endless emptiness. “My lips are sealed, my tongue caught in a promise and my voice belonging to the gods, take me as is and free me.”

Wordlessly, he plunges the dagger between her ribs and twists. She gasps and pants, hands falling to her sides and head rolling back  as she stares up at the sky.  “It’s prettier from down here,” she wheezes, “remember that.”

Tugging the dagger out, he wipes it on the thin fabric of his shirt and folds her hands on top of her stomach, the hilt her sword cupped beneath it. He searches for a misplaced shield,  lodging his dagger in anyone who came close to him to stab, grunting whenever he wasn’t fast enough to stop an attack and growling when he had to use his fists instead of his dagger.

Scanning the battlefield for a helmet of gold and a helmet of black is, as Taketora finds it, difficult. His attention snapping from one person to the other, all the while fighting.

Taketora doesn’t stop tearing through those who oppose him, his rampage to find Koutarou and Ryuunosuke urging him on as he snaps and lunges with his attacks, quick and fast, vision blurring and blood making it difficult to see.

Still he refuses to stop breaking through enemy warriors until he finds his closest friends. Refusing to let them die in the waste of the battlefield and forever be tormented by Kers who thrive off pain.

“ _ Kou! Ryuu! _ ” Echoes wherever he goes, voice raw from screaming their names, limbs burning from the exertion, dried blood - his own? Others? Taketora couldn’t tell anymore - marked his armour.    


He turns, jabs, runs and repeat, sending prayers to those who fall around him and never come back up. He sees it when he feels his mind wavering, head pounding and as if every part of his body was on fire.

The warrior he’d stabbed, standing in front of a soldier who lay on his side, helmet - just as red as Taketora’s - is held in his hand. Chest rising rapidly as he pants, eyes closed and skin paler than normal.

She looks like apparition, a figment of Taketora’s exhausted mind that has come back to haunt him.

Taketora raises his sword. “Leave him be.”

She laughs raggedly, gasping for breath and pressing a hand to her wound, barely balancing on her own legs as she sways, like a puppet with its strings pulling them off the ground and into the next move the puppet master wants from them.

“Does it look… like I can do anything to him?” She rasps, eyeing the hand on her rib while leaning her weight on her sword. 

Taketora wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Never trust the -”

“Wounded or the sick, never trust the living or those that are thriving,” she sucks in a deep breath and shudders, kneeling on the ground with her head resting against her sword’s hilt. “Only trust the dead, for their secrets may be revealed or forever kept.”

She manages a weak smile at Taketora’s dumbfounded expression, and coughs until her chest burns and her vision blurs. 

“How?” He whispers, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“You weren’t the only one to leave their home,” is all she says. “Tora... I need you to do something.”

He stiffens, striding closer towards her and the soldier from Nekoma. He levels his dagger to her neck again. “Who are you.”

She stares wide eyed at the weapon, before her expression morphs to that of amusement and exhaustion. She snickers, wincing and breathing deeply. “You know… It's sad the day your older brother can’t seem to recognise you at all.”

The tip of the dagger wavers, a fresh wave of emotions shoots through Taketora as he crumbles to his knees, arms limp and on his lamp as he stares at her with something else in his eyes. Shock, a flicker of hope that soon dampened down with horror.

“You forgot your own little sister, huh?” She croaks and she slips. Taketora scrambles to catch her, cradling her in his arms while he scans her face behind her helmet. “You...Tora you promised you’d - you’d have fixed things and- Tadashi and, ah shit,” she removes the helmet off shakily, throwing it down next to her without a care. 

“Tora,” she tries to sit up and cries out, Taketora lowers her to the ground again and cups her face and resisting the urge to wipe the streak of blood across her eyebrow. “You  _ promised _ .” 

He shakes his head,biting his lip and feeling his chest tighten.. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Akane you weren’t - you were meant to - what,” he rushes out, thoughts scattering everywhere. “I hurt you, I hurt you so much Akane, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t meant to be you, it was never meant to be you.”

“Where you… even gonna honour the dead,” she shudders and he shakes his head again, this time with tears building up in his eyes and his heart clenching. “Please… please don’t let me die without it.”

Taketora swallows the lump in his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. “At ease soldier,” he takes a quivering breath. “Your fight… your fight here has come to an end.”

He bows his head, tears falling freely as he holds onto Akane’s hand, clenched between his own. 

“Your fight is not over,” she murmurs, touching his forehead before gently tapping his closed eyes. “Fight… fight till the end of time and join us in whatever waits for us.”

The two remain silent for a second, Taketora gasping for breath, face flushed. His world crumbling between his arms as his sister struggles to speak.

“Though… you’d deserve to… to hear it just once, from - me, from family,” she croaks, her own tears falling down into her hair. Taketora leans until his forehead touches Akane’s and listens to her final request.

“Promise me,” Akane rasps, fingers more frantic as they hold onto her brother. “P-please Tora,  _ please.” _

He rocks, holding her in his arms as the last breath of life leaves her. Akane going heavy in his arms as she watches the skies with dead eyes, empty but looking alive with the shine of tears still falling. 

“I swear I will, Akane,” he cries, trembling. 

“ _ Forgive me,”  _ he mutters into her hair like a mantra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed it ^o^ its a mess of words but aaaaaah !! i tried :d
> 
> bless you [sky](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com) and [mits for reading the mess of the fight scene and helping me fix so many things asdfgh](http://mitsouparker.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Death is a simple concept, known heavily throughout the land torn by the scars of never ending wars and the curses of raging deities, each fighting a battle to protect the mortals below them.

“Fools,” she whispers, leaning against a column of her temple. She watches the mortal world go by behind closed eyes, shivers running through her with each passing death of a warrior. “The gods should not have interfered in this war.”

A hum fills the silence she leaves. Kiyoko glances at her companion, watching as Alisa walks towards the borders of the temple, feet never touching the ground as she hovers gently. Soft and luminous and _silver_ , an excellent combination to describe the deity of sleep, Kiyoko thinks.

“Perhaps,” she comments, voice light and lulling with an accent Kiyoko could never quite pin point. “Although the mortals called for us, prayed for us, gave us offerings.”

“Called for _you,_ ” Kiyoko states, amusement finding its way into her voice and she looks into the smooth surface of her scythe, watching it ripple and display an image of Hades’ human children. “They wish for sweet dreams and lost memories from their _‘Hypnos’._ ”

Alisa huffs and shrugs, her own toga falling in waves that seems to disappear among the clouds around her, each twisting and winding itself around the deity.   “I admit; I am not very fond of the name.”

“Hypnos,” Kiyoko repeats, testing the word on her mouth for the millionth time since she first heard Alisa referred to as that. “ _Take me away, take me and protect me_ ,” she recites duly, waving a hand in the air and watching the smallest wind whirl around, picking up black dust and dancing on her palm.

“I see you pay close attention to mortal prayers.”

The black dust grows larger and Kiyoko twists her hand, directing it out of her domain in the realm of immortals and through the bypassing bridge that connected the two worlds together.

“It is my duty to do so, the Lords and Ladies of the Underworld demand to know the final wishes of a mortal before sentencing them to their afterlife.”

Alisa flicks her hand and sparks follow Kiyoko’s dust storm with their own message.

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow, but makes no comment. Instead, she runs her fingers across the edge of her weapon, memorising details from the on-going war that tore several towns on its pathway of destruction.

Alisa hums and moves to wrap an arm around Kiyoko’s waist, bending to rest her forehead on Kiyoko’s shoulder with a sigh. “It must be exhausting,” she mumbles, “having to sort through them all, even the prayers that are not your own.”

She shrugs and jostles Alisa’s head from where it rested. Ignoring the pout from the taller deity, Kiyoko taps the centre of her scythe. Immediately the blade turned inky with slashes of silver bleeding into the metal.

A pleased sound from her side makes Kiyoko shake her head and huff softly, raising a hand to curl in Alisa’s pearlescent hair, wisps of it wrapped around floating golden orbs that were scattered around her head like a solar system.

“What other tricks can you do with that weapon of yours, ‘Yoko?”

Blue lips quirking up into the beginnings of a smile, Kiyoko combs at Alisa’s hair until she melts against her, tightening her arms around Kiyoko and standing on the ground, barefoot, with her walking cloud gone with the wind.

“You’re very aware of all my tricks."

“...Alisa,” Kiyoko murmurs as Alisa nuzzles her jaw. “Are you the deity of sleep or an overgrown kitten?”

“ _Kitten?_ ” she sniffs. “I am the fiercest, all powerful _lioness_.”

“Ah, yes,” Kiyoko corrects with an eye roll and a gentle nudge to her side, “forgive me for insinuating you are anything lesser than that,” bowing her head, she hears Alisa’s giggles and feels something press against her cheek.

“ _Do not apologise oh lover, for you, I will be anything,_ ” Alisa quotes, voicing deepening slightly and accent changing to something more from the Karasuno region.

“Was that meant to be Koushi?” Alisa nods enthusiastically and Kiyoko flicks her in the cheek with an amused look. “He would take offence; he hasn’t said that in an eon.”

Alisa rubs at the spot Kiyoko hit and pouts, lower lip stained white and a splatter of red around the edges of her mouth. “Koushi’s a doll, he would laugh and make a comment or insult the latest human that attracted his interest.”

The snort that leaves Kiyoko makes her flush, pink blooming from the apples of her cheeks,over the curves of her ears and down her neck. Smug, Alisa noses at her shoulder with a smirk, past antics leaking into her interactions with Kiyoko, as if second nature.

It has been so long, she muses, since they were in one another's arms, contempt with the warmth of another person. Alisa drowns out the thought, not interested in picking apart her past relationship with Kiyoko when she can finally rest.

“He may argue against taking another mortal under his wing,” the memory of Koushi’s past experience with mortals flashing through both their minds. Alisa’s hands tighten around the black toga Kiyoko wore and Kiyoko found herself pressing Alisa closer to her neck. “He has yet to recover from Moniwa.”

The shudder that leaves Kiyoko doesn’t pass Alisa’s attention and she tugs her down, one arm coming to push against her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers, searching Kiyoko’s eyes for warning or hints at her emotions. “He doesn’t blame you, Koushi never has.

“I wouldn't wish for anyone to forgive me for what I’ve had to do,” voice flat and eyes dim Kiyoko sighs and closes her eyes. “Don’t, Alisa, I am fully aware of what you want to say.”

“I’ve only been telling you that for the past hundred years,” comments Alisa, fingers itching to do something, so touch Kiyoko and lift her spirits, to press their cheeks together and envelope her, dusting her with magic and soft dreams.

It was infuriating, sometimes, how difficult it is to read her when her eyes have lost their shine and remain an ominous, overwhelming blue that makes it hard to breath sometimes. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Alisa presses a hand against Kiyoko’s cheek, twinkles of emerald and the darkest of sapphires flits across her skin. Alisa’s own fingers being smeared with the softest of pinks and patches of silver and blue.

“Our vows seem to stand,” Alisa taps Kiyoko’s nose, and the blue the flickers there amuses her.

“It's been nearly fifty years since we stopped our ceremony, Alisa,” Kiyoko wrinkles her nose and pokes Alisa’s forehead twice, two dots of pale pink making their way there. “The vows need more time to fade.”

“You didn't want them to fade before,” pointing it out makes her think of days spent in a bed covered in furs, in the soft smell of caramel and burning wood.

“Neither did you.”

“Touché.”

“I don't need to see your face to know your making that expression you save just for Lev,” Kiyoko says, an image of the young demigod appearing, silver hair tied up and high on his head as he sparred with others, Alisa watching and cheering for him as he learned from Kuroo Tetsurou and Yaku Morisuke.

“Does that mean I'm always making that face?”

“Naturally, what other expression would you show, but affection and some annoyance,” there is laughter in her voice, Alisa notes, enjoying talking about her younger brother.

She hadn't seen Lev since the mortal war started almost six years ago...

“Isn't his birthday coming up soon?” Alisa shakes her head of her trailing thoughts and smiles.

“In a few more months, he's going to pass his first cycle,” Lev had boasted about turning one hundred the last time the two met, in a dream that Alisa created and Lev held close to his heart and memories. “I’ve missed more of them than I should have.”

“You've visited him in your apparitions, have you not?”

“I always do, I need to check up on him and make sure he didn't upset any of his generals when training,” she says exasperatedly. “He once picked up general Yaku and jumped onto a mountain just to show him how he could kill a boar.”

Kiyoko claps, lips pursed and nods, impressed by the young demigod. “And did he?”

Alisa snorts and covers her mouth to hide it. “Yaku kicked him and Lev whined until he had to take Yaku back to camp.”

“Oh dear,” she giggles, “impressive ways to get General Yaku’s attention.”

“Lev should create a scroll of all the things he's tried, I swear to the stars above,” Alisa shakes her head and Kiyoko tilts her head in approval.

“It shall be a work of art, mortals from across the globe would travel miles just to catch a glimpse of his glorious words.”

Alisa makes a face and changes her voice to replicate that of her brother’s. “ _I used my strength as the future greatest demigod to ever exist, to kill it! Easy!”_

Kiyoko snickers and Alisa watches her with stars shining in her eyes. The familiar trickle of wonder seeping into her as Kiyoko’s face Pickens from laughter and she wonders, how could such a brilliant person be death itself?

Alisa is aware of her closest friend’s abilities and influence over mortals and immortals alike.  The strength and command as the goddess of death, the fear and simple _power_ she has without so much as moving a finger, often leaves others envious of Kiyoko.

But as she stands there, with Kiyoko in her arms and tucked safely there, giggling at Alisa’s silly imitations, she knows that the envy others feel for Kiyoko’s authority was in vain. Kiyoko did not thrive off her control over the mortals, she did not play games and force them into unimaginable situations.

She does not do what dreams do; she does not create fear from lost hope, she doesn’t enhance imagination only for it to lead to madness, she does not crumble the foundation of emotions and thought a mortal has, breaking it into pieces until they’re left there, throat raw from screaming their sorrows.

Kiyoko gives what dreams do not; she gives mortals a release from their forced enslavement to a tyrant, she gives power to the tortured, the broken, the victims; she gives them motivation to fight against.

“ _I will not die here, I will not die here, I will_ **_not die here.”_ **

When she could, Alisa would spit in the faces of those who tried to harness Kiyoko’s abilities, her power, and her _title_. She will destroy them all, Alisa thinks darkly; she’ll wrack them with nightmare upon nightmares until they understand their foolishness. Until they understand that being a deity or Lord or goddess is the very essence of one’s being, the living embodiment of nature that focused and intensified until a person is created, each with features of their original purpose.

“You’re thinking of something morbid,” Kiyoko murmurs, fingers never stopped combing through Alisa’s hair as she tugs her closer and presses a kiss to her forehead in the hopes of soothing whatever wrapped its claws around Alisa’s mind. “Whatever it is, disperse it.  You no longer need to force yourself into your subconscious, Alis’”

“You can never be too sure,” she feels Kiyoko sigh and closes her eyes, already aware of Kiyoko’s feelings towards Alisa’s powers, to the extent at which she needed in order to properly tap into it and feel the connection with her original element. “We are all mighty beings, creators and destroyers, what more do we have than to be careful of the risk we put ourselves at?

“You mean become too paranoid?” Kiyoko questions, expression neutral as she scans over Alisa’s face.

“Am I not allowed to be?”

“I have never said so.”

“But you thought it. You seem to ignore that the abilities to read others is stronger with me.”

“Ah, no, I’m always aware of your mind reading abilities Alisa. I just believe you’ve taken your curse to a worse extent that you should have.”

“ _Worse?”_ she laughs, a bitter sound leaves her and Kiyoko stiffens as Alisa seems to darken. Pearlescent hair turning grey, her multi-coloured eyes shifting and the shades of blue and brown seeping away, staining her cheeks as it falls like tears. “Have you no idea of what I’ve been forced into, Kiyoko?”

She observes the deity of sleep warily, body rigid as Alisa clenches her fists and steps away from Kiyoko, releasing her from her embrace and choosing to wrap an arm around herself instead, posture defensive and jaw clamped shut.

“You know nothing about my curse,” she announces, voice hushed and echoing through the temple despite her volume. “You have no concept of what madness I have, do you?”

Kiyoko’s silence is enough for Alisa to laugh scornfully. Her laughter growing sharper, until she falls sombre and closes her eyes, trying to regain her breath, eyes still glowing eerily beneath her subdued expression. Kiyoko shifts and squeezes the staff of her scythe, taking some comfort with her weapon.

She had asked herself in the past, what had happened between the two of them to sever their love. I To disrupt the balance of good and bad within each other as their connection was cut off and the two were lead astray. She remains confused with how they ended up on either side of each other, eyes drowning with frustration and anger, sadness and a thick coat of bitterness underlying everything.

“You speak the truth,” Kiyoko whispers, “as always, Hypnos.”

She bows her head and turns her back to Alisa, whose form wavers between that of her human disguise and her true godly form. With the tip of her scythe, Kiyoko draws a line across her palm, watching the white line well up with blood before she presses it against the blade of her weapon and smears her blood on it.

Kiyoko cuts through the air with her hand, black dust circulating around the stripe she created and widening it up the portal formed, colourless except for when she touches it.  Before she walks through it and into the mortal realm, Kiyoko pauses and looks over her shoulder.

“Earlier, you were wrong. The mortals below always pray for death and she shall come.”

She walks through the portal without a second glance back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> relationships are,,, very odd oops
> 
> yell at me [here](shouyouohno.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> i hoped you enjoyed it!! its a mess and _what the heck are fight sequences anyways_ its based off a mythology au ive had in mind for a while (among other different mythology aus) and im really excited to write it !! its also my attempt at angst most of the time
> 
> yell at me [here](shouyouohno.tumblr.com)


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